"I make some progress then I go backwards."

You know the shape of it

You know the shape of it. You have a genuinely good week, things get done, you almost like yourself. Then one comment lands wrong, or someone goes quiet on you, and the next morning you can't start anything. Not won't. Can't.

It shows up in really ordinary places too. The haircut you won't book — and it's got nothing to do with money or time. An hour that's only about you doesn't feel allowed. And yes, I know. It's a haircut. Which almost makes it worse.

Almost every decision you make is hard. Even the small ones. Especially the small ones, actually. Some days it's just exhausting — I don't know another way to put it. And you'd never say that out loud, because you're supposed to be the one who copes.

The maddening part

Here's the maddening part. You already understand yourself. You can trace the people-pleasing back to where you learned it, you know why you over-explain, why you apologise for things that need no apology. So I don't actually think understanding is your problem. That's the funny bit. Every person I sit with says some version of this. They understand loads. It just doesn't seem to change anything.

I said something once about my own life, and I've heard it back from a number of people since, almost word for word: I know all of it logically. I can see it. It doesn't change how it feels.

All the understanding you've collected lives up in the logic. And the thing that runs your days doesn't live there. Nothing has ever reached the place it actually lives. Not yet, anyway.

What's actually underneath

So if it isn't a knowledge problem, what is it?

It's a conclusion. Here's how I say it when I'm sitting with someone: it's not that anyone sat there and said "you have no worth." Those words don't come out of people's mouths 99% of the time. You link that connection based on how you have been treated. And when you're treated badly often enough, you start to turn the table and go: well, if this just keeps happening — it must be me.

It must be me. That's the conclusion. At least, that's what I see sitting underneath this stuff, more often than not. It got made a long time ago, without your permission, and it's still deciding things now. Which conversations you replay. Which mornings you can't start. Whether the haircut gets booked.

You've probably tried arguing with it already. Actually, I'm almost certain you have. It doesn't listen. Of course it doesn't — arguing works on ideas, and this stopped being an idea a long time ago. You live inside it. And there's a catch that keeps smart people stuck for years. The conclusion isn't something you look at. It's something you look through. It sits behind your eyes. So when you go searching for it, you're using the thing you're trying to find to do the looking. Near impossible. Unless seeing what sits underneath people happens to be your gift.

If it isn't yours — and it isn't most people's — that was never a flaw, and it was never a lack of effort. You were doing a two-person job on your own.

Why conversations, why me

That's where I come in. Seeing what sits underneath people is my gift. It's how I found my own.

I'm always paying attention — I notice things in other people, they don't have to open their mouth. So no, you don't need more information. You've had information for years. What you've never had is someone who can tell you things you don't already know and show you what you might be blind to. That's the job here. Two people talking. I can see the conclusion you're looking through, because I'm not looking through it.

What people have said to me:

What this is

Five conversations, 45 minutes each. Just you and me.

You put them wherever they fit inside two weeks. Around work, around family, spread out or close together. I keep them inside two weeks on purpose, because each conversation picks up while the last one is still warm.

Nothing to prepare and nothing to bring. Most people turn up not knowing how to explain the stuff or where to start. That's fine. Honestly, that's normal. Finding the thread is what I'm for.

After the last conversation, I write it all down for you. What came up, what I could see underneath it, and your next steps — yours, for your situation, not a template. Something to pick up on the days your head says nothing happened.

Both of my self-paced guides, the Narcissistic Abuse Recovery Starter Kit and Is This Even An Argument?, come with it, so there's something in your hands between conversations. Together they'd normally cost $64.

The voice that says don't

Before you decide, I want to name something, because I'd rather name it than pretend it won't happen. Somewhere between here and the checkout, a voice is going to say: I'm not worth it. It probably won't help anyway. Other people need it more.

I know that voice. It isn't the truth talking. It's the conclusion again, doing what it does. You don't have to out-argue it today, and you'll still feel unsure when you book — I'm not going to say you won't. Book anyway. That voice is part of what we'll look at.

For you / not for you

Who I am

I'm Kaz.

I'm not a therapist and I'm not a coach, and I won't pretend to be either. I talk with people. I give them honesty, compassion, and whatever I can see. And if I think you need a professional, I'll say so, and you'll at least know what to ask for.

I'm not speaking from a textbook either. I know this thing from the inside — how it thinks, what it costs, how long it can sit there unseen. You won't be getting my story in our conversations; the whole point of them is that they're about you. But you'll notice you don't have to explain things twice.

A lot of experts talk about the symptoms. But they're treating the symptoms. I go to the root.

Questions